


I'm only going over home.

by Lady_Talla_Doe



Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Episode Related, First Time, M/M, Marking, Older Man/Younger Man, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, bottom Turin, i actually don't know the age gap, reckoning night, s3 ep9, they'll get back to friends, top Fancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:15:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22524637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Talla_Doe/pseuds/Lady_Talla_Doe
Summary: the missing pieces to Turin and Fancy's reckoning night, between when they're at the cell, and when Turin returns to the Royal.
Relationships: Fancy Lee/Turin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	I'm only going over home.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry I'm this horny for this pairing.  
> Title is from Pre's song, I absolutely love it. Spoilers for anything up to S3 ep9, although minor and not in detail

* * *

* * *

The door to his cell hissed open, the light from the bars playing across Fancy’s eyes. Red blood dripped from his closed fist, pattering slowly drop by drop to the floor.

“You don’t have to stay trapped, it’s up to you.” He lowered his hand, and Turin followed the motion.

It wasn’t like he didn’t understand- but, well no. He didn’t.

“So I walk out of here,” he nodded at the cell, “And we’re pals again?” a sneer, “Or I’m just another warrant for you to fill?” the knife was still in his hand, but it had to be said. Forgiveness wasn’t supposed to be _easy_ \- Fancy’s forgiveness, for all the unjust actions Turin had taken against him and the cleansed- it was too easy.

 _I don’t deserve it._ It hurt to admit, even in the silence of his own mind, and only to himself.

A flash of frustration, then Fancy’s expression smoothed, and he lifted the blade high before letting it fall to the ground. The knife made a high, sweet ring as it hit the floor. Turin watched it skitter across the floor, a thin smear of blood vivid red against the floor.

Red blood. Fancy’s red, very human blood.

“There are no warrants now,” he shook his head, and the hum of the lights seemed to be echoing in Turin’s ears, in his blood. “It’s _war._ And I still don't trust you,”

He couldn’t break Fancy’s gaze, standing warily at the back of his cell. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what expression was on Fancy’s face, as he continued, “I'm giving you the chance to prove me wrong. The chance you owed me."

Fancy turned from him, gave Turin his back, despite the bloodied blade laying on the floor between him.

An act of trust. One Turin was certain he didn’t deserve.

He looked between the blade, and the tense line of Fancy’s shoulders. He covered it well, but there was vulnerability in his eyes, a hesitance in his stance.

Fancy had been a good RAC agent. One of the best; for a moment, Turin tried to step back from his own suspicion, his own _fear_. The light slid down Fancy’s jet black hair, and Turin made up his mind.

“Fancy, wait—"

~*~

His shoulders hit the wall, and Fancy kept pushing, hands fisted in Turin’s shirt, in his hair.

It was funny how animosity worked. Respect, fear, disgust. None of it really mattered, with the executioner’s axe hanging over all their heads – dawn, war. It put a lot of things into perspective. Plus, it was reckoning night.

And there were a lot of ways to reckon with a person.

There were teeth in Fancy’s kiss, and his hands tugged to harshly when they twisted in Turin’s hair, but there was an edge to it that met a need Turin wasn’t wholly comfortable with. He felt short of air, gasping in the moments when Fancy’s mouth left his, arching into the touches that were just shy of too hard. It was good, good in a way he probably didn’t deserve, but Fancy was hard when he pressed against him, and when he bit just a little too harshly down on Turin’s lip and drew blood, they both groaned. He – _they-_ needed the sharpness, needed somewhere to put all the hesitation and aggression, and unnecessary distrust that had built up between him.

“Boots,” Fancy said roughly against his lips, although his touch was softer as he carded his fingers through Turin’s frazzled curls. They tightened at the base of his neck, but even that felt good; Turin tipped his face back, breathing him in, and in the darkness he could still make out the glitter of his eyes- firmly on Turin’s face.

He toed off his boots, and struggled briefly with his belt. This was no gentle love-making; Turin wanted to be _fucked_ , harsh and fast. He shoved down his pants, kicked them off, and Fancy wasted now time lifting his knee up over his hip, his now bare erection rubbing just right against Turin’s.

There was no resisting the allure of tangling his fingers in Fancy’s thick dark hair, tugging it free of his bun until it fell loose and wild around his face. Wet fingers touched against the back of Turin’s leg, and he grit his teeth as first one, then a two pressed inside his body. His breath caught, and oath on the tip of his tongue, but Fancy’s mouth was on his again, and he roughly kissed away the stinging edges it. It was quick, not enough to make it easy, but the stroke of his fingers in Turin’s body, the way his stomach tensed with pant- it was enough.

There was no love in the way Fancy breeched his body, but he held him tight as Turin gasped, cursing at the stretch, moaning at the fullness. Stroked his hand down the length of his spine, gentled his touches; the soft petting of his hair away from Turin’s face, pausing in his relentless motion to give him a moment to adjust. Hot everywhere, despite the cold air of the RAC; Turin clutched at his shoulders, let Fancy take his weight. The fabric of his coat stuck to the sweat on the insides of his thighs as he wrapped them around Fancy’s waist; each hard thrust punched a noise out of him, a grunt and then moan that was swallowed by his relentless kisses.

Building bridges with their harsh touches, until he was so close, nails digging into Fancy’s neck.

He might have screamed, but there was no one to hear them. Fancy’s teeth in his throat, blunt and human, marking him hard as he came inside him; Turin shook, and spilled between their bellies, cum ruining both their shirts.

Fancy continued to rock into him, slower, shallow. Enjoying the after glow.

Lips against the already darkening bruise, left by his teeth.

Turin sighed, letting his head fall back against the wall.

“….I’m sorry.” He said softly, into the darkness.


End file.
